Chapter 1 #2
“My father, though kind and generous in many ways—” Josephine paused, hearing another wave of angry voices and shattering of glass behind her.
She felt pulled to rejoin her fellow suffragists, but this was Susan B.
Anthony, the woman who had inspired them all.
The opportunity to speak with her would likely not come again.
“He was a very religious man and held steadfast to patriarchy. And my mother, she never once sought to challenge him. Not in word, or in deed. At least not in front of my brother or me. She taught me it was a wife’s duty to love, honor, and obey. ”
Even now, the word rankled, and the shadow chasing across Miss Anthony’s countenance seemed to convey agreement.
Either that or concern, Josephine couldn’t be sure.
She so wished her mother had enjoyed greater liberty, both within her marriage and in her world.
One thing Josephine knew for certain . .
. She would never place herself in that kind of subservient role to a man.
She wouldn’t marry until she could find a man who esteemed a woman as his equal in every way.
Which meant she would never marry. And she’d accepted that.
“But . . .” Josephine continued, feeling Miss Anthony’s patient attention. “Somewhere along the way—”
“The brilliant, hungry mind of a young girl,” Miss Anthony interjected, “didn’t let stilted patriarchy or blind tradition stop her. She feasted upon the knowledge along with her brother, who, I sincerely hope, encouraged her to learn just as he himself was encouraged.”
“Oh, he did.” Josephine’s eyes watered. “Todd was my twin brother, and my champion in every way.”
“Was?” Miss Anthony questioned softly.
Josephine hesitated. “He was killed . . . two years ago. He’d been working on behalf of freedmen to uncover corruption in the Georgia prison system.
Freedmen were being jailed on minor or trumped-up charges, then indentured to companies under brutal conditions.
One night, following a meeting at the jail, Todd didn’t come home .
. . They found his body the next morning behind a warehouse, only a few blocks from here.
The officers said it was due to an attempted mugging, but .
. .” Her gaze trailed toward that part of the city as memories of how he’d died—had been murdered—still haunted her.
All the unanswered questions. “A handful of months later, my parents also died. As I shared, they were considerably older when Todd and I were born, and . . . I think Todd’s death just—” Her voice broke and she shrugged, letting the silence finish for her.
With a frail hand beneath Josephine’s chin, Miss Anthony urged her gaze back. “I am certain your brother and your parents—viewing this world from their current vantage point—are very, very proud of you.”
Josephine’s throat knotted.
“The older I get . . .” Miss Anthony searched her expression.
“The greater power I seem to have to help the world. I am like a snowball . . .” She smiled.
“The further I am rolled the more I gain. And I believe with all my heart that I am looking into eyes remarkably similar to those of my younger self.”
Josephine blinked and a tear escaped. “Thank you, Miss Anthony. I do want to help change things, but sometimes I don’t know how to do that. Or if what I’m doing is making any difference. There’s so much opposition.”
“Stay the course, my dear young woman. Cautious, careful people, always casting about to preserve their reputation and social standing, never can bring about a reform. So forget conventionalisms, forget what the world thinks of your stepping out of your place. Think your best thoughts, speak your best words, work your best works, looking to your own conscience for approval. Trusting, of course, that your conscience is guided by God.”
“Miss Anthony!” a man called out, and they both turned.
One of the handful of men Josephine recognized as attending in support of suffrage raced toward them. “Make haste, ma’am. It’s not safe. The violence is escalating. We have your carriage waiting.”
“Yes, yes.” Miss Anthony’s steady voice belied the chaos. “Miss Dunham, you are most welcome to accompany us. In fact, I would encourage it.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I want to find my friends. Make sure they’re all right.”
“Very well. But promise me, no matter what comes, you’ll remember”—Miss Anthony gently grasped her shoulder—“we must prevail in this. Failure is impossible.”
Josephine nodded. “I’ll remember.”
As the two hurried away, she caught the boisterous laughter of men and walked back to the corner to see a group of them pelting suffragists with rotten eggs.
The seasoned cluster of women stood shoulder to shoulder, placards held high, vigorously chanting the mantra, “Votes for women! Votes for women! Votes for women!”
Josephine’s resolve hardened even as her heart ached.
This was not the change she’d hoped to inspire.
Her parents, God rest them, had taken her and Todd to abolitionist rallies after coming of age, so she knew this kind of ignorant hostility.
They’d taught her that words carried the power to change hearts, and that God Almighty could be trusted to work in his often-mysterious ways.
She still wanted to believe that, and she still knew the Scriptures instilled in her from childhood.
But mysterious was one thing—seeing no sign of his hand at all was another.
Had he simply turned away from her? Was he weary of her repeated disappointments, as her earthly father had once been? If so, the feeling was mutual.
Across the street, younger compatriots huddled en masse as a half dozen men poked and prodded them with sticks as though they were cattle, laughing and making fun. A few tore off the women’s sashes, the ribbons snagging their upswept hair and drawing even louder jeers.
Fuming, Josephine started toward them just as pea whistles shrilled. A horse-drawn police wagon rounded the corner. Finally. It was about time. The authorities would disperse the crowd and protect the—
“No!” she screamed as officers seized the young women instead, shoving them toward the patrol wagon. When the suffragists resisted, the policemen raised their clubs.